


Must be something in the atmosphere

by Mis_Shapes



Series: Must be something in the atmosphere - Extended [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Attempt at Humor, Banter, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, I like that this tag exists, I'm sorry I know next to nothing about teaching, Jon is rude, Late night shenanigans, Light-Hearted, M/M, Play Fighting, School Trip, Sexual Content, Snow, Theon Greyjoy is a Gift, Theon is a relatively sensible seasoned teacher, and even less about art and sea life, aquarium, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:54:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25631647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mis_Shapes/pseuds/Mis_Shapes
Summary: Jon is originally disgruntled to discover Theon is standing in for Sam on a class trip, but after a rocky start things go better than he'd imagined despite, or perhaps with the aid of, interference from the weather.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Jon Snow
Series: Must be something in the atmosphere - Extended [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921441
Comments: 12
Kudos: 51





	Must be something in the atmosphere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theonsfavouritetoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/gifts).



> With thanks to theonsfavouritetoy for the prompt and Lydia_Martin_trash for being a wonderful beta. It's been great to take some breaks from the more angsty Theon/Jon WIP I have going on. This was also originally for Evax3 too, but I've decided the other prompt warrants its own fic, partly because although this is all pretty far-fetched 'there was only one bed' was pushing it a bit too far.

**Jon**

“Are you kidding me?” Jon asks, squinting a little in the early morning winter sun.

Greyjoy rolls his eyes, hands tucked into a leather jacket with only what appears to be a thin shirt underneath. Not that Jon is really paying attention to what he’s wearing. “Yeah, Snow, this is all an elaborate joke, I woke up at 5am just to wind you up.”

“I’m not -” Jon huffs, breath billowing in the crisp cold air. How is Theon not freezing? “I didn’t mean it like that.”

A smirk tugging on his lips, Greyjoy arches a brow. “No?” 

He really didn’t mean to make out like it was a problem that Theon in particular was filling in for Sam, who was apparently ‘sick as a dog’ according to Pyp, more that Sam would have been preferable. Or any other of the science teachers if he’s being honest. He’d like to say he’s above their little ‘tiff’ now. Or tiffs plural.

“No,” Jon repeats back to him firmly, “I’d just rather have someone here who actually knows things.”

“Oh right.” Theon snickers and glances away towards the kids piling onto the coach.

“About the topic I mean. Not that you don’t know things,” Jon clarifies, a little too late, his chest tightening. Fuck Greyjoy. “Just that it isn’t your field of expertise.”

“I see, because you and Sam are each marine biologists?” When Jon narrows his eyes, Theon continues. “No? Zoologists? Please, I know for a fact you didn’t even study physical geography, and I’d wager Sam barely covered sea life either.”

He struggles for any retort because Greyjoy is making a fair point. “Must you always be so flaming awkward?”

“Whoa, Snow, flaming is a bit strong, there are children around,” Theon jokes.

Jon takes a deep breath and turns around under the pretense of checking which of the twenty or so class members have turned up, checking them off the list as they walk past.

“Well, you seem to have things under control out here, I’ll get on and make sure they aren’t causing too much of a ruckus already,” says Theon and begins to walk away to the sounds of excitable teens.

“Sir, I didn’t know you were coming!” calls Owen, one of the jokers.

“Seems like some are happy to have me here,” Greyjoy whispers to Jon over his shoulder.

“Shocker,” Jon mutters back under his breath. What a surprise that one of the boys he has to confiscate something off every other lesson is part of Theon’s fan club… which happens to include the majority of the school.

He’s gone back to his clipboard when Theon claps him on the back, causing his pen to skid over the paper. “Try to lighten up, Snow, it might be fun if you let it.”

Gritting his teeth, Jon chooses to ignore him and direct his attention to a particularly nervous girl, Sybelle, who is shuffling her feet as she waits to speak to him.

When he’s finally got all of them on the coach, he climbs up the stairs himself, and sighs at how, despite the size of it and small class size, they’ve all decided to sit separately and spread themselves across a pair of seats each. He takes one look between the front seat with Alys chewing obnoxiously sweet smelling bubble gum and the one with Theon sat idly flicking through the folder of documents for the trip, and decides - despite how annoying he is - to sit next to Greyjoy. 

After slinging his bag onto the seat he takes a waste bag and holds it out towards her. “Gum.”

“But Mr Greyjoy didn’t say anything when I offered him a stick!” she whines.

Jon shakes the bag towards her again. “I really don’t care,” he says and immediately regrets it. He can’t bear to check Theon’s reaction.

“This is so unfair!” She exclaims dramatically, throwing it into the bag, and pulls out her phone with one final scoff.

“Right, listen up,” Jon begins his speech of how this is all going to go and how he expects them to behave, focusing on maintaining his strict teacher voice in defiance of how each time he glances over Greyjoy is smirking as he continues to read.

Theon’s mocking him the minute he sits down. “You are aware they are all seventeen-eighteen, right? And she’ll have the gum back out as soon as you’ve let your guard down. You’re not in school, there’s no leadership peering in and checking up on you, you might as well let some things slide.”

“If I let some things go it will turn into a landslide,” Jon hisses. “Give them an inch, they’ll take a mile and all that.”

Theon finally looks at him, dark eyes glittering, “is this your first trip, Mr Snow?”

Jon bristles. It’s just like Greyjoy to lord his years of experience over him. “No.”

“But it's _your_ first?” Greyjoy asks, but it barely sounds like a question.

Jon lowers his voice so he can’t be heard by anyone other than Theon over the chatter. “Yes, alright, it’s the first I’ve organised, and I really would like it to go well, so would you please just be, I don’t know, obliging for once in your life?”

Theon bites back a grin. He doesn’t even change his voice, but Jon knows him, knows how his mind works, and what the way his eyebrows twitch up means. “You want me to be obliging, do you?”

“Enough,” Jon tells him sternly as the engine turns on.

Theon chuckles, tucking back a strand of black hair behind his ear and looking back down.

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” says Theon in a way that tells him it’s definitely something. 

Jon knows he shouldn’t push this, but he can’t help himself. “No - what? What is it?”

Theon’s singular dimple appears with the lopsided grin. “Do you use that voice in other contexts?”

“For fucks sake,” Jon murmurs. He doesn’t know what he was expecting.

Theon gasps with faux shock, clutching pearls that aren’t there. “Mr Snow.”

Jon hates the way his lips twitch, threatening to curl into a smile. Greyjoy’s satisfied expression as he crosses his long legs, that Jon can’t help but note, tells him he knows anyway; he’s always so bloody sure of himself, and as painful as it is to admit, he is funny sometimes. _Sometimes_.

The truth of it is that Greyjoy isn’t stupid, he knows when people really don’t like his innuendos or his light-hearted flirting and he’s not one to find enjoyment when they don’t. And Jon does like it, but he’d rather he didn’t, it would save him from how he feels when he sees him with someone else. It’s all a joke to Theon, but it has his stomach flutter. How could it not? When he looks like that, talks like that, moves like that.

It’s best not to go down that road. 

“So, have you ever been before?” Theon asks, casually sparking up a neutral conversation. He is talented in that respect.

Jon nods. “Mmm. I took Arya once.” He smiles thinking of his little cousin. “She had a bit of a meltdown the summer I got my driver’s license. Woes of a middle sibling I guess. So we had a little adventure.” The smile Theon wears is one he sees quite rarely. Warm, genuine, affectionate even, maybe. It’s one that has often seemed reserved for Robb in the past. “How about you?”

“A couple of times…,” says Theon. The way he tails off and suddenly takes a vested interest in a small pull in the fabric of his trousers tells Jon there’s more to this so he waits patiently for him to continue. “Do you remember that squid keyring I had on my keys before I lost my jacket that time?” Jon nods, he does, it was so old the blue rubber was almost invisible after being next to the metal so long. “It’s from there. One of my last memories of my mum lucid.”

Jon’s face drops. “I’m sorry,” he says awkwardly. He hates when people say that, but his mind throws a blank.

“Nah, it's okay,” Theon shrugs, “it is what it is, y’know?”

He’s stuck for what to do now. What’s he supposed to say to that? Thankfully, at least in that moment, he’s saved by one of the students peeking through the headrests.

“Sir,” Myriame says, the tilt of her head suggesting she is speaking to Greyjoy, and launches into a conversation about a film he’s apparently recommended, something ridiculously indie by the sounds of it, and soon rather than one of them taking up the two seats there's three piled onto it. 

He’d like to tell them to go sit back in their own seats and to put on seat belts, but he should probably be wary of undermining Theon quite as much as he has been so far. Still, it’s really quite irritating how they hang on his every word, and if he’s being honest, to have lost his attention.

Out of the corner of his eye he catches Alys back chewing gum. He’s going to pin the blame on Greyjoy if it ends up on one of the seats.

Trying to distract himself with something, he reaches over Theon to where he’s stuck the folder under the window and brushes against him despite the way Theon presses himself back against the seat, making a show of sucking in his relatively non-existent stomach, but the fingers of one hand touch his back tentatively as though ready to steady him should the coach brake sharply. Just that small touch feels like a spark of electricity that courses through his body. At Greyjoy’s feet he spots his leather satchel - monogrammed, of course - open with sketchbook inside. He’s always been curious about the pad of paper he carries around.

“You could’ve just asked,” says Theon, indicating to the folder after they’ve stopped talking and Jon has told them to go back to their seats now.

“Didn’t want to disturb your little fanclub moment.”

Theon laughs. “Who is it you’re jealous of?”

“Sam,” Jon says quickly. Theon laughs harder and this time Jon can’t contain a small smile.

“I think it’s going to snow,” Theon comments 10 minutes later, looking out the window and towards the hills in the distance, and subsequently giving Jon scope to take in his sharp jaw and the pull of the tendon in his elegant neck.

Jon shakes his head both to Theon’s statement and his imagination forcing him to think on kissing those beautiful lines. Mother have mercy, he’s annoying. Perfectly crafted to frustrate him. “It’s too cold.”

“What, are you some sort of weather expert now?” Theon teases.

Jon elbows him lightly, enjoying the opportunity to touch him too much.

“Hey, violence is never the answer.” Theon smirks. “You best not let them catch you. Such a bad example, first that bad language and now this.”

“You’re a bad influence,” Jon accuses him. “Maybe we need separating.”

“I get the feeling we already have been.”

“What do you mean?” Jon asks. The feel of Theon’s calf moving against his own when they go over a speedbump gives him another rush.

“You remember in your first term we had forms in the same year group as each other, and then next term they decided to put you with the younger ones?”

“Yeah?” Jon frowns. He’d always been told it was because they thought it was a good opportunity to build a good relationship with a class from the beginning.

“Stannis had this idea that you might want your hand held and, as someone who knew you who had been there a while, that it should be me… but you being you, you didn’t take to it.” Theon flashes an uncharacteristically reserved smile. 

It’s true, Greyjoy had rubbed him up the wrong way. He’d assumed Theon was just telling him what to do because he’s an arrogant tosspot who likes to be patronising when he can.

“Oh,” is all Jon manages to say, but he lets his leg relax and his knee knock Theon’s and feel the warmth of him. 

**Theon**

They each spend what's left of the morning leading the group along the coast and into the dunes, having them all do some worksheet and throwing quadrants onto the ground, with all of the pupils moaning intermittently about being cold, to which Jon mostly responds that they should’ve dressed better. Theon certainly should have dressed better, but he’s not about to complain to Snow.

At the aquarium after lunch, deciding against keeping the entire group together, Jon chooses to divy them up into two groups, but rather than stick to their original groups they end up doing swaps, much to Jon’s frustration. Theon is certain Jon has his own reasons for the original set up, but the group he ends up with is made up mostly from those in his A Level art class and their friends. He knows Jon takes anything like this as a slight to himself, so he grazes Snow’s arm with his hand to get his attention.

“Looks like you have your own fans,” says Theon with a smirk, indicating to the group now waiting for Jon as he shrugs off his jacket. Jon in his jumper must be boiling hot, but he doesn’t show it. Maybe he knows he looks good in it. Theon can’t say the same about the walking boots that although practical are pretty damn ugly.

Jon purses his lips. Must he always be sullen? Long faced in both senses of the term. Why does he end up going for miserable gits all the bloody time? 

Ok, in reality he knows why, it's the fun of trying to win them over. Watching them melt. And Jon is the perfect candidate. It’d be a lot easier if he wasn’t the type to not take him seriously. He’s one to take all the little touches as accidents. He’d let Theon’s knee press up against his on the coach, but despite the light pink high on his cheeks he’d only briefly returned it before he decided better of it.

“Theon,” Jon begins quietly, after a morning of calling him Mr Greyjoy in front of the class, just when they’re about to split and Theon immediately turns to look at him, “thank you. I’m sorry about this morning. You’ve been,” he pauses, chewing his lip briefly, “you’ve been great. I’ve never seen some of them act so sensibly.”

Theon smiles, hoping it comes across as him being pleasant rather than smug - which he supposes Jon will jump to. He knows which of the group he’s referring too. “Some of them have to be sensible at home. They just let a bit loose when they get to school. They’ll respond if you treat them as young adults.” He searches Jon’s pensive face for a bad reaction, but, surprisingly, it doesn’t come.

After the guide has led them round and they’ve done all the work set, Theon lets his group go free, telling them to have a look more at whatever they’re interested in and to meet outside in front of the gift shop at 4.30. He imagines most of them will drift back to the cafe, but about four of them decide to hang around next to him when he begins to sketch an octopus sat at the bottom of a tank. Noting their interest he tears pages from the sketch pad and hands them out.

He’s just discussing cephalopod movement and how simply watching will help them with art, that getting to know something will have an impact, when he hears voices from the side of where they are sitting in a little nook, and Jon’s reflection watching in the glass.

“Sir, how do you manage to get the suckers so perfect?” Sybelle asks to his left, looking from her own sketch on the clipboard set on her knees.

Theon looks over to her drawing, feeling Jon’s eyes burn into him. “This is really good already,” he tells her and she beams at him. He’ll never get tired of that look. “I do it like this,” he demonstrates in the corner of his paper, thinking of how his teacher would take the pencil from his hand and take it to his own work, “but sometimes it's just about finding your own style and practicing. I used to sit and just make circles sometimes.”

He looks to his watch and then cranes his neck to look up at Jon. “Sorry, is it time to get off?”

“No, there’s still a little time.” Jon flashes a small Snow-like smile and pushes himself off the glass of the tank he’s been leaning on. “I’m going to carry on, there might be some milling around outside already. See you out there.”

Theon nods and finds himself watching Jon as he walks away down the tunnel, a shoal of fish overhead. It’s all too easy to let his focus drift to that arse, especially when Jon reaches into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet. He’d like to slip his own hand in there.

From his right hand side, Owen speaks up, distracting him. “Mr Greyjoy, is it true you and Mr Snow went to school together?”

“Not quite, I’m a bit older than him so only for a little while. We used to be neighbours, but we didn’t speak much.” It comes out almost wistful despite having little opinion of it at the time, not when Robb was there, easy going and ready to cheer him up with a spot of mischief when he escaped the Greyjoy madhouse.

When they pack away and go to meet the others it’s to find Jon mid panic in a flurry of snow on his phone, and a bunch of notifications appearing on his own now he finally has signal.

“Are you sure? Is there another way we can go?” Jon presses his eyes closed and threads his fingers through his hair in frustration. He finishes off the call and turns to tell Theon what he already suspects to a lot of excitement from the pupils. “The roads are closed.” Theon tries to control his face, but Jon is already there. “Please don’t say it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Theon says with a smile and Jon raises his brows. They both know there are countless times in which they’ve both directed the words ‘told you so’ towards another. “What now?”

Jon sticks his hands in his pockets and gives a little shrug. “Any suggestions?”

“You want my opinion?” Theon teases when he’s come to stand by him, and is rewarded with a roll of Jon’s stormy eyes.

Watching him look across the snow covered car park, Theon catches the way Jon’s jaw and lips move when he tries to contain a smile and presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

“Let’s start by getting inside somewhere. There’s a pizza place over there with an arcade, if its still there,” he points just over from Jon’s line of vision. “We’re going to have to feed them at some point… Come on, we can start calling the school and parents in the warmth, then I’ll thrash you at air hockey, yeah?” Theon winks.

Jon sucks in his lip before he breaks out into a grin. “Oh, you're on.”

* * *

Theon should’ve known what that look meant, and then the way he’d pushed up his sleeves like he meant business before the first game, but instead he’d put a bet on it in which the loser bought dessert they haven’t got enough for through expenses after booking somewhere to stay and buying pizza. It’s going to have to be a few boxes of mini muffins from the corner shop at this rate.

“When did this happen?” Theon asks midway through his second defeat after negotiating they do for best out of three about 2 hours later, and has the students watching them laugh.

“Sometime in about the last six years.” Jon smirks, lifting up his chin and displaying his handsome straight Stark nose. Cocky twat. “You’ve let your game slip, Greyjoy.” This provokes some tittering around them at the address. “Are you ready to concede yet?”

Theon knocks one in while Jon is busy being smug. “Not quite.” He grins.

“That was quite unsportsmanlike,” complains Jon.

“Me?” Theon asks, incredulous, and then laughs. “I’m the one being unsportsmanlike?” 

Jon pauses before his next move, bent forwards with his hand poised on the striker, and Theon finds himself first taking in the taut muscles in his arms. Then he meets his eyes to see what he hopes is his own interest mirrored. 

He’d like to say he lets the next few slip in to be able to finish the game sooner and round the table, but it's only half true.

“Been practicing just for a chance to beat me have you?” Theon asks afterwards, leant against one of the arcade games with Jon resting against the next one along.

Arms folded and keeping at eye on the group, Jon licks his lip and smiles before he side eyes Theon. “Oh yeah. You got me. Everythings about you.”

“I knew it. Sad bastard.”

“Language,” Jon reprimands him in jest; none of them will be able to hear over the noise. Turning slightly, his eyes do a quick sweep of Theon and his posture. “There was an air hockey table in the recreation room in uni halls.”

He knows this isn’t the time nor place to be flirting so unabashedly, but he can’t help himself. “Any other skills I want to know about?”

“Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise,” says Jon, facing back out and controlling his expression until he can’t help but glance back over with a coy smile. He pulls out a little paper bag from his pocket with his cheeks showing a hint of pink a little under the light brown and holds it towards him as though it's nothing. “I got you something.” 

When Theon peeks inside he’s sure his heart stops. “Jon - “

“Sorry,” Jon rushes to say, “I think they must not make the same shade of blue anymore, this was the closest match I could find.”

He takes the keyring out, pushing a finger through a ring to have it rest on his palm. “It’s perfect, thank you, really.” Trust Snow to change the mood in a moment.

**Jon**

Jon sits on the bed flicking through TV channels aimlessly after checking there are no lights coming from under the doors of the rooms on his floor. He attempts to ignore his phone sat on the bedside table and begging for attention. He can’t get like this over a little innocent flirtation, especially not when Greyjoy is involved, but his hands itch to make the first move.

Half an hour after settling down to get himself in the mood to sleep, he’s surprised by a knock at the door.

Getting up, he pulls on the hotel dressing gown and goes to answer it to what he imagines will be a complaining pupil, but instead he’s faced with Theon, cheap perry and cigarettes in hand.

“Contraband?” Theon offers the perry as a guest might a bottle of wine to the host.

Jon automatically steps out of the way to welcome Theon into the room. “How did they… ?” 

“Oh Snow, I’d forgotten how boring you were. They have their ways.” Theon then pauses from the way he’s looking around in pretense the room is Jon’s own and he’s being nosey, and looks him up and down. “Sorry, were you sleeping?” He asks, looking at his watch. “Maybe I should have brought you hot chocolate or warm milk instead… or what’s that weird malt drink Old Nan used to drink?”

“Fuck off,” Jon says, hitting him on the chest with the back of his hand, “prat.”

“I can, if you want?” Theon jokes with him and pretends to turn to leave.

Pulling him back in, Jon shakes his head, “I don’t want.” He thinks, fantasies that, Theon might follow the momentum into him and put him out of his misery with a kiss, but it's not to be.

Theon smirks, smug, and walks past him to sit with legs under him on the foot of the bed, gathering the glasses on the drinks tray on his way. He even smells good. “I didn’t think so.”

And fucking hell. How has he come to have Greyjoy sat on his bed? 

Jon follows him to sit against the headboard, suddenly well aware of his relative state of undress when he tries to arrange himself without having the robe gape.

“Fill us up,” Theon holds the glasses out towards him, his gaze slipping, Jon thinks, to the portion of his bare chest.

“I… Is that wise? What if we’re needed for something?”

“Snow, it's like 5%,” Theon reassures him, and then screws his face up when he takes a sip. “Drowned god, that’s foul though. How the fuck did we drink that?” he asks then proceeds to down the rest of the glass. 

Jon refills the glass for him. “Tell me why we’re drinking it then.”

“For nostalgia's sake,” he says, pulling out a deck of cards. When Jon gives him a quizzical look he explains while dealing them ten cards out each and turning one in the centre, “caught them gambling.” 

Jon doesn’t need to be told what they’re playing. They’ve been forced to play enough rummy at Stark parties and holidays. Fifteen minutes in he’s wondering how this became so tame as they talk about work and take in turns swigging from the bottle on Theon’s suggestion that it might taste better like that - seen as he doesn’t think he’s ever drank it from a glass before. Greyjoy might be onto something with that.

He watches Theon sort out his own cards and clears his throat. “Your sketches - from earlier - they were beautiful. You’re really talented.”

Theon smiles. “It’s not so much talent as practice.” He presses the fan of cards against his lips and eyes Jon carefully, curious. “You really have been avoiding me, haven’t you?” When Jon doesn’t provide a response he continues, “you didn’t wonder why Sam asked me?”

“I just thought you must not have many classes today.”

“Well… I didn’t, but Sam wasn’t to know that.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and types into it before handing it over and displaying what appears to be his own website. “Anyone who's ever set foot in my classroom, or even perhaps had any interest in me in or out of work would know.” Shuffling a little on the bed he reaches over to click on a link to the gallery.

Swiping through illustrations of sea creatures and plants, Jon feels his lips part with a will of their own. “Oh.”

“Oh? Is that all you’ve got?”

“I’m a little speechless…” Jon laughs, “I feel like such an idiot.”

Greyjoy just shrugs, despite Jon having prepared himself for commentary and agreement on him being an idiot, and takes his turn in the game.

“So, about before…” says Jon, picking up a card and discarding another. “I’m sorry I was a dick.”

Looking up from the cards, Theon knits his brows in confusion. “You already apologised. It’s fine.”

“I don’t mean today. I mean last year. You know, not being particularly amicable. I’m maybe a little regretful of getting split up.” He adds, “just maybe,” at seeing the amused expression on Greyjoy’s face.

“It wasn’t just you…” he says, picking up a card, “there were the rumours.”

“Rumours?”

Theon’s smile broadens. “Oh, Snow, you have kept yourself away from the gossip. The kids,” he starts gesturing between them, “they thought we had a thing going on.”

“What? Why?”

Greyjoy rolls his eyes at him. “Drowned god. There’s no need to be so horrified.” Jon continues to watch him arranging his cards until he looks back and into his eyes. “Look, we’re relatively young and clearly have a history.” He purses his lips as he considers. “Enough of them have a crush on you that they think I might too. Don’t look at me like that, I’ve had to field enough questions about you to know,” he pauses and exaggerates the way he looks Jon up and down, “can’t say I see it myself.” 

Jon’s heart sinks, but then Theon winks in a way that has him hoping it's to tell him it's anything but the truth. Before he can think what to say Theon has placed a winning hand and is leaning forwards over the cards, setting a hand by Jon’s knee as he angles his head for a kiss and flicks his gaze between Jon’s eyes and lips, waiting for him to close the gap. “It’s your move, Snow,” he whispers.

He looks so uncertain that Jon can’t quite believe it's happening, but he’s just as nervous. Any time he’s imagined this happening it's in a moment of passion, ill thought out. As soon as he’s moving towards him, Theon’s hand reaches out to caress his jaw and draw him in to the kiss. He feels his lips part the second he meets Theon’s and mirrors his touch.

Theon slips slightly when his hands hastily brush the majority of the cards from his path in the pursuit of getting close, and soon his knees are crawling forwards until he’s close enough to deepen the kiss.

“Fuck,” he mumbles when he parts to look at Jon, “I should go.”

“Please don’t.”

Speaking rationally, Theon suggests, “we should talk about this first.”

Jon kisses his jaw, skirting his lips until he reaches his ear and whispers, “if that’s what you want.”

“Jon…” Theon whispers, concerned, but bares his neck to the kisses that descend his throat and pushes Jon’s robe down from his shoulders despite his words. When Jon takes his arms out and begins to slide down the bed and looks up at him, he asks, “are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Jon panics and props himself back up on his hands. “Do you not want to? Shit, have I read this wrong?”

Theon chuckles and tilts Jon’s head back for a kiss. “Idiot, how can you come away from this thinking I’m not interested?” Once he’s got him going again he runs his hand over Jon’s bare torso down, pulling the knot of the belt open, to delve under the elastic of his underwear.

Jon’s back arches, pushing himself into Theon’s hand and groaning into his mouth.

“Really are eager, aren’t you?”

“Piss off, Greyjoy,” Jon laughs, pulling Theon towards him by his shirt and beginning to work on the buttons, and moans at the touch of talented hands. “Fuck… Theon.”

Theon knocks apart his legs to slip his knee between, letting Jon feel how hard he is against his thigh as he moves, alternating between soft kisses and those that become more passionate and have Jon chase friction and more attention from his hand, as his own hands fight to get the shirt off Theon. He can’t contain a whine and the buck of his hips when Theon takes his bottom lip between his teeth.

He gasps when Theon dotes on his neck at the collar. “You’re overdressed,” he accuses him while fumbling with the hook and fly of Theon’s smart trousers with one hand. Theon may have been inadequately dressed for the morning activities, but at least they’re easy to get off. He’s about to push them down his hips when Theon moves and slides from the bed.

Before taking his trousers off he takes a condom and sachet of lube from his pocket. At Jon’s raised eyebrow from where he’s on his side propped up by his elbow Theon does a mock three finger salute and grins. “Be prepared.”

“That’s such bullshit,” Jon laughs, taking the condom from him, “you’ve never been a scout.”

“It’s a good motto.”

“Oh yeah, because you’re so prepared for things besides sex.”

“I’m sorry, would you prefer to go without?”

Jon rolls his eyes. “I have one in my wallet like a normal person. I just don’t tuck them into my pocket and then play the gentleman like I didn’t plan it from the beginning.”

“Yeah?” Theon asks with a smile. “How old is it?”

“You’re such a twat,” says Jon, playfully pushing him.

“Nah,” Theon says, bending to give him a lingering kiss, “I just know I’m weak.”

“Why are these still here?” Jon complains about the layers of clothing and pushes them down, pulling Theon in with a hand at his back so he can kiss and lick the bare skin while tearing open the condom. He places it between his lips and strokes the back of Theon’s thigh when he takes his mouth to the cock before him.

Theon jolts when Jon’s tongue presses up over the head to the roof of his mouth and reaches to take a fist full of his hair.

Fighting against the need to make a noise at the pleasure that runs through him, Jon’s eyelids flutter and he gathers the control to roll the condom slowly down with his lips through Theon’s low groan. He looks up and wraps an arm around Theon to steady him as he makes sure it's on properly, running his lips up and down the length.

“Jon, stop,” Theon insists when his tongue joins in the pursuit, voice gravelly and tugs on his hair. “Enough. I want to last as long as possible.” Once Jon has stopped, he taps him and instructs him to turn until he’s laid back horizontally on the bed, bum up to the edge of the mattress.

Jon watches Theon’s expression, the way he bite his lip when he looks down, the look of concentration when he breaches him, all of it gives him as much of a rush as the way his fingers stretch him and the way he trails his free hand up and down his inner thigh before following with his lips. Jon’s feet find the frame of the bed and use it to push himself against Theon’s perfect hand.

“Fuck me,” he breathes.

Theon is clearly as gone as him when he sets one knee on the bed and lifts Jon’s hips with an arm under him and help from Jon lifting himself on his forearms and feet, but he still manages to get out while he thrusts in slow to Jon’s groan, “happy to oblige”, with a cheeky look on his face.

With a breathless laugh, Jon wraps a leg around Theon, heel pressing against his lower back, and when he’s stable even brings the other to join it. He closes his eyes to concentrate on the feel of Theon pounding into him. As he gets close he rocks back against him, straining his muscles.

“You feel so fucking good,” Theon tells him, awe in his voice. “You have no idea how long I’ve… shit… how long I’ve wanted this.”

Jon can’t believe the whine he hears has come from his own mouth. “Not as… not as long as me,” Jon almost whispers, struggling to keep up the same momentum.

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Theon says and it’s not like he can argue with that. “Turn over,” he then requests, pulling out and leaving him desperately empty.

In the new position on his hands and knees, there’s no warning before Theon pushes back inside. He cries out in ecstasy and slumps onto his forearms, dipping into the mattress.

“Sshh,” Theon reprimands him, putting a hand over his mouth as he picks up the speed and fucks him harder. “We have neighbours.” When he’s satisfied the noises are under control he takes it away to thread his fingers through Jon’s hair, the other still on his hip to pull him back and match his rhythm as Jon’s command of his senses slips away.

“Oh Fuck,” Jon groans, and bites his knuckles, trying not to make a sound as Theon’s movements become erratic and he grips Jon’s hair just as Jon clutches the duvet beneath him. The feel of the crisp cotton sheets and the soft quilt they cover against his cock are just enough to work him up, enough to taunt him without pushing him over the edge.

Theon’s breath is hot against the nape of Jon’s neck when he urges him to kneel up, wrapping an arm around his chest to support him. His hand deftly reaches down and strokes Jon while he kisses his neck.

Frustrated, Jon rises and falls up on his knees, ignoring the protest of his thighs, fucking back onto him.

“Gods,” Theon whispers into the shell of his ear, making him shiver, “you’re too much, I’m going to come, are you close?” All Jon can do is nod in response. “Do you want anything differently?

Jon shakes his head and comes undone when Theon licks him, hot and wet, and sucks gently on his ear lobe. He falls back against Theon’s heaving chest, shuddering against him, and gives a final cry, muffled against his arm, when Theon lets them both topple forwards with one last thrust. He’s still feeling the aftershocks when Theon reaches his own climax.

Placing kisses on his shoulders, Theon runs the hand not under Jon over his back, letting them calm before pulling out and rolling onto his back beside Jon. He looks over to Jon and smiles, reaching out to stroke his jaw and pull him in for a kiss.

Blissed out and eyes struggling to stay open, Jon smiles into his kiss. “Mmm,” he murmurs then huffs out a laugh. “Wow.”

“You’re putting in the work next time.”

“Next time, huh?”

Theon uses his foot to flick up his underwear into his hand in practiced ease and Jon shakes his head with a little laugh at him as he wipes his hand. Eventually, he tosses it back to the floor and moves in close. 

“I was hoping you might indulge me in a date.”

Trying to not let his complete surprise show, Jon knocks his shoulder into him. “I hope you’re not expecting me to put out on the first date.”

Theon pushes his shoulder, making him rock to the other side with a grin. “Is that a yes?”

Jon feigns a tired sigh and says, “I guess,” not quite believing Theon enough to put his heart into it.

“You’re such a dick.” Theon laughs.

Jon grins. “Pot, kettle, black.”

“Perhaps,” Theon concedes and stands up, beginning to walk to the bathroom. Jon moves to get into the bed as he waits. On his return, Theon pulls on his trousers.

“Are you leaving?” Jon asks, watching him button up his shirt from where he’s laid.

“Not right away, but I’ll have to eventually,” says Theon and crawls over the bed to him.

Jon supposes this is true, it would make for an awkward morning if he’s found not to be in his room or if there's a problem in the night past a point they could’ve just been hanging out. 

He slips into sleep a short while after, with an arm round Theon, legs intertwined, and wakes to find a note replacing him on the pillow, scribbled, but maintaining a sense of his elegant handwriting, onto the hotel’s note paper.

_Hey, I was serious about that date - I’d love the opportunity to walk all over you at a bowling alley - let me know x p.s. I think a case could be made that it’s a second date… just saying. No ulterior motive._

At the bottom corner he’s doodled a squid. The whole thing is so ridiculous it makes Jon grin like a fool and leaves him feeling as though he’s walking on air, struggling to concentrate on anything but the memory of Theon’s touch as he gets ready after pocketing the momento.

__

The first sense he gets of anything awry are the giggles of Myriame, Alys, and Beth when he knocks on their door to make sure they are awake and getting ready, and then Sybelle’s wide eyes when he gets to the second room.

__

He finds Theon sat with those from the floor he’d been on in the hotel’s dining room, and nervously approaches the long table. There’s a couple of grins and stares, and when Theon sips a drink and turns to look at him he covers his mouth to contain his amusement until he’s swallowed the mouthful of coffee.

__

“What?”

__

“Have you got a scarf?” he asks, and when Jon nods he casually grazes his own neck with his long fingers until he gets the hint that he’s left his mark on him. “I’d put it on if I were you.”

__

He’s just settled, scarf draped around his shoulders and trying to put it behind him, when he hears Owen say, “nice one, sir,” to Theon, and almost chokes on a piece of toast.

__

“I don't know what you’re talking about,” Theon responds, patting Jon on the back as he coughs.

__

**Author's Note:**

> Comments much appreciated. Also, feel very welcome to say hi on [my new writing/asoiaf tumblr](https://salty-wench.tumblr.com)


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